


liar's dice

by atinystarlight, yunsans



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Jung Wooyoung, Choking, Degradation, Drinking, Gambling, Gunplay, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Light Knifeplay, M/M, No Safeword, Pirates, Rough Sex, Smoking, Spit Kink, Top Choi San, Undernegotiated Kinkplay, boot licking, cigarette burn, pirate san plunders booty, ye olde degradation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29711625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atinystarlight/pseuds/atinystarlight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunsans/pseuds/yunsans
Summary: “Alright, what’s your wager?”San leaned in, anchoring his gaze on Wooyoung’s. “You.”Wooyoung blinked, then startled upright, a devilish grin pulling across his features. “Oh, nowthisis interesting.”—San goes up against a mysterious gambler known as Easy Eight—and neither are keen on losing.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 43
Kudos: 221





	liar's dice

⚀

⚀

“Damn bilge rat!” came a snarling bellow from across the tavern, a rickety chair grinding against the battered wood floor as a brutish fellow smashed his boot into its leg.

San paused, his match lingering on the end of his parchment-rolled cigarette as he threw a glance toward the commotion. The tip started to flare, and he quickly shook it out, leaving only a wisp of smoke trailing into the air from its embers. Accordion music filled his ears with joyous shanties, the scent of tobacco and opium choking the air in a miasmic haze. It was a boisterous night like any other, a welcome escape from the endless lull of the sea.

The Treasure Inn was known for drawing in a rather unsavory lot, providing a haven for thugs, ruffians, and scoundrels. San found himself offering patronage whenever his ship docked nearby, though it wasn’t often his crew frequented the same port of call. It was lively, to say the least—though something drew San’s attention to this particular outburst.

The brute stormed off, leaving the spoils in the hands of a young man with far too much ego for his own good—San could smell it from all the way across the bar. Dice scattered across the table in front of him, two cups bound in maroon leather sitting upside down beside a half-exhausted bottle of rum.

“Another one, huh?”

San turned his attention to Hongjoong, the Inn’s bartender. His lips curved upward in amusement, tossing a glance to the young man as he swiped a rag around the rim of a freshly rinsed glass. San raised the cigarette to his lips, sucking in a hearty draw before puffing out a thick cloud of smoke.

“What do you mean?” he asked, absently picking at the grime under his fingernails.

“They call him Easy Eight—kid’s notorious around here. Could beat the devil himself in a game of Liar’s Dice.”

“The devil?” San glanced across the inn again. The young man—Easy Eight—kicked his feet up onto the corner table, his arms folded and his hat tipped over his eyes as he relaxed back into his chair, seemingly unconcerned with his surroundings. Something about him irked San, like he was begging to be put in his place.

“Yeah. He never loses, or so they say. Hell, I’d believe it.”

“You’ve never seen him lose?”

“Never. Why, you wanna go against him?”

San took another long drag. “I could go for a game.”

San placed his hat back onto his head, positioning it over the salt-stiff waves that hung on either side of his face. He held his smoke between his lips and rose from his seat, grabbing his bottle of rum from the counter, the remains of the amber liquor inside splashing against the glass. He could feel its warmth all the way down to his toes, letting it guide his feet to the table in the corner where Easy Eight met his victims—not that San planned on being one.

San hooked his foot around the leg of the chair, roughly dragging it toward the table with a harsh wooden snarl. He sank heavily into it, letting out a nonchalant groan as he inhaled another thick cloud of smoke. The noise caught the young man’s attention, making him tip his hat up over his eyes with a light push of his ring-adorned finger. His feet were crossed one over the other on the table in front of him, the filthy heels of his boots staring San right in the face.

Easy Eight’s eyes drew over San’s figure, a smirk tugging at his lips at the prospect of a fresh kill. San took a swig of his rum and set it on the table, the liquor sloshing a few times before it went still. He gave a smile, neither friendly nor malicious, a waft of smoke twisting in front of his face from the glowing end of his cigarette.

Easy Eight slid his boots off the table, letting them hit the ground with a rude _thump_. “Come to challenge me?”

“I hear they call you ‘Easy Eight.’”

“I have a name, too—Wooyoung. Jung Wooyoung. You?”

“Choi San.” San smirked, gaze traveling up and down his frame. “Do they call you that ‘cause you’re easy?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

“They tell me you could beat the devil himself.”

“Yeah? I seem to have quite the reputation around here,” Easy Eight—Wooyoung—laughed, resting an elbow on the table. He spun a loose gold ring around his index finger with his thumb, slipping easily like it was sized for someone else.

“Well, call me the devil, then. I’d like a challenge,” San grinned. He’d just reached port, after all, and the fresh coins in his pockets begged for a gamble.

Wooyoung exuded arrogance from head to toe, gold chains of varying sizes festooning his tan chest, both his fingers and his ears adorned with jewelry as if to display his winnings for all to see. A deep scar ran across his collarbone, stopping just before his sternum, the other end disappearing beneath the fabric of his black blouse cut so low it left half his torso exposed.

He was a looker, and the smile on his face said he knew it damn well. San might have underestimated his abilities had it not been for Hongjoong’s warning—Liar’s Dice was his game, after all. Still, San couldn’t help but be drawn in by the charming little mole under his left eye.

“You—the devil? You don’t look so bad.” Wooyoung’s eyes flickered up and down again, drinking in San’s appearance with a lecherous glint.

San shrugged. “Guess we’ll see.”

“What’s your wager? I’d be happy to take that pretty gold tooth off your hands,” Wooyoung suggested with a nod in San’s direction.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” San grinned, sliding his tongue over his gold-plated canine. He slipped his hand into the pouch at his hip and pulled out a silver coin, displaying it between two fingers. “Piece of eight?”

“Fair enough.” Wooyoung pinched the brim of his tricorn hat and lifted it from his head, flipping it around to catch San’s coin as he tossed it. He set it beside them on the table, adding his own piece of eight to the pool.

Without the hat shading his features, San could actually get a good look at him. He seemed close to San in years, his face full and youthful yet sharply masculine, his jaw carved straight and his nose forming a high, attractive ridge, though his long eyelashes and the pink flush of his lips spoke of a softer allure. He was ravishing, simply put, and San was more than a little surprised.

San swiped five dice from the table, dumping them into one of the embossed leather cups and giving them a good shake.

“Challengers first,” Wooyoung offered, fisting his own leather cup in his hand, the other curling over the top as he rattled the dice.

They slapped their cups down in unison, then tipped the rim up just enough to sneak a glance of their dice, obscured to the other.

“Two twos,” San started. Playing it safe in the first round meant Wooyoung couldn’t parse his strategy.

Wooyoung raised his eyebrow slightly, flickering his eyes between San and his own dice. “Three threes.”

It seemed like he was playing it safe too.

“Five threes,” San raised.

“Six threes.”

San leaned forward slightly, cocking an eyebrow up. “Liar.”

They raised their cups, revealing six threes between them, two of which were made up of Wooyoung’s ones, acting in his favor as wildcards.

“I’m sure you know what that means,” Wooyoung taunted, reaching across the table to slide one of San’s dice away with a flick of his index finger, sending it clambering to the floor. “Your bet.”

They shook their cups again, slapping them against the rickety table so hard that the legs creaked in protest.

San tipped his cup up, concealing his disappointment behind a stoic expression. One of each number, no wilds. He was fucked.

“Three fours,” San bluffed. His only hope was for Wooyoung to raise.

“Three fives.”

Playing it safe, of course. San would have to force him to raise higher again if he had any hope for a win.

“Four fives.”

Wooyoung leaned forward, tapping his finger against his lower lip with an impish gleam in his eye. “Liar.”

San restrained a wince as Wooyoung raised his cup, revealing his dice. No fives in sight—of course, he was bluffing from the start. San should have known better than to play right into the palm of his hand. San tossed a die to the side, filling his cup with the remaining three.

“You know the drill. _Losers_ first,” Wooyoung mocked, slamming his cup down on the table after a few shakes.

San’s lips pulled up into a sly grin as he tipped up the brim of his cup, flickering his gaze up to meet Wooyoung’s. “Six sixes.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened just barely, and if not for San’s careful attention, he wouldn’t have caught it. Wooyoung would have been crazy to raise that bet with only eight dice out.

“Liar,” Wooyoung gritted, eyes betraying hesitation.

San raised his cup with a confident flick of his wrist, revealing three sixes. Wooyoung’s cup slid to the side to reveal one six and two ones, enough to secure San’s victory.

“Luck of the dice, I suppose.” San punctuated his brag with a nonchalant shrug, waiting for Wooyoung’s reaction from across the table, but his collected gaze was entirely disappointing.

San didn’t have time to relish his victory. Wooyoung swept the remaining rounds with ease, forcing San to relinquish his final three dice, ending the game with a loss. Gloating, Wooyoung gathered his dice with a practiced swipe of his hand, clattering together as he rolled them in his palm.

“Another game?” San offered.

“What’s your wager this time?” Wooyoung leaned forward, resting his chin on the back of his palms, elbows propped up on the table. His gaze drew up and down deliberately, a mischievous smirk pulling up at the corners of his mouth. “Why don’t you bet your clothes? I wouldn’t mind seeing you strip.”

“I’m sure you would, but let’s save that for later,” San responded with an insinuating smile, curling his fingers around his bottle of rum. He sealed his lips around the mouth and took a generous swig, feeling it burn as it slid down his throat, grunting in distaste as he thumped it back down against the table.

San reached inside his coat and fished out two coins from his pouch, pinching them between his fingers and holding them in front of Wooyoung, tossing them into the hat at the edge of the table. “Two pieces of eight.”

Wooyoung licked his lips, his tongue lingering in the corner of his mouth as he scanned over San again, who couldn’t help but stare. “That’s no fun. But I suppose I’ll match.”

The dice knocked together loudly in the cup before halting, flipped upside-down on the table.

San glanced up at Wooyoung, attempting to read his stoic expression, then back at his dice.

“Three fives,” he bluffed.

“Three sixes,” Wooyoung countered.

“Four sixes.”

“Liar.”

They lifted their cups, revealing no sixes in sight. San gritted his teeth—he should have known better than to fall for the same bluff two games in a row.

Wooyoung pushed out his lower lip in a faux-pout, sliding one of San’s dice to the side with a casual flick of his finger. “That’s too bad.”

San’s second match was a downhill battle, Wooyoung collecting San’s dice one by one like a wicked magpie.

“One more game.”

Wooyoung cocked an eyebrow, eyeing San boldly. An amused grin twisted up on his lips. “Oh? Haven’t had enough of losing yet?” He leaned in, swirling his index finger along the brim of the cup. His eyes cruised San’s figure with a devilish gleam. “You know, I could think of better ways to waste our time.”

San let his gaze dip down to the deep cut of his blouse that exposed his chest, rich golden skin adorned with even richer chains, the angry scar slashed across his collarbone suggesting a curious history, but San didn’t care enough to know. Despite the scars and the coat of filth marring his skin, Wooyoung was undoubtedly beautiful. San could think of many worse fates than ending up in bed with him.

In fact, that’s exactly what he wanted. It wasn’t enough to merely get Wooyoung in his bed, though—San had to _win_ him.

“I think you may like my next offer, then.”

“Must be well-heeled to keep throwing your coins away on a losing game, but who am I to argue?” Wooyoung shrugged. He reclined back in his chair, crossing his legs under the table with a nonchalant kick. His forefingers rubbed against his thumb listlessly, and he pulled his gaze back up with a disinterested expression. “Alright, what’s your wager?”

San leaned in, anchoring his gaze on Wooyoung’s. “You.”

Wooyoung blinked, then startled upright, kicking away from the table, a devilish grin pulling across his features. “Oh, now _this_ is interesting.”

“And yours?”

Wooyoung hummed in thought, drumming his fingertips across the splintered wood, then hoisted his boot on the table with a heavy kick, the rickety table legs clattering against the floor. “You get down on your knees right here and lick my boots.”

“Deal.”

Wooyoung’s fiendish grin faded to a shrewd smile. “You seem awfully smug for a man on a losing streak.”

"You know what they say. Back a dog up in the corner, it's gonna bite." San scooped his dice into the cup, flashing Wooyoung a dangerous glance. "Better not lose on purpose."

"Tempting, but it’ll take more than a pretty face to get me to strike my colors. Plus, I have a penchant for crushing egos,” Wooyoung purred. "Don't worry, my boots are clean."

The dice rattled against the interiors of their cups, knocking against their hands before crashing down to the table. Neither of them were playing around now—especially Wooyoung, whose concentrated gaze seemed to pierce through the table as he glanced down at his own dice.

San tipped his cup up, revealing three sixes, a four, and a two. It was risky, but his smartest move was to catch Wooyoung off guard with a bold bet from the start.

He cocked a subtle smirk, letting his cup clatter against the table as he dropped the rim back down. “Five sixes.”

Wooyoung visibly restrained his shock, slowly pressing his lips together. His poker face was good, but San could detect the slightest glimmer of conflict in his expression. He would have been an idiot to raise that.

“Liar,” Wooyoung challenged, right on cue.

They lifted their cups, an amused grin pulling up on San’s face. His three sixes were complemented by Wooyoung’s two ones—giving him a winning five.

Wooyoung clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You got lucky.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” San hummed. “If I recall, it’s your turn. Losers first, right?”

Wooyoung shook the dice violently, then flipped his cup and tipped the rim without even hazarding a glance up. “Five sixes.”

“Deja vu,” San jeered. “Imitation _is_ the highest form of flattery.”

Wooyoung looked unamused. “Raise or call.”

San glanced at his own hand—a jackpot. Three threes and two ones, essentially five threes. All he needed to bet on was that somewhere in Wooyoung’s roll read a three or a one. “Six threes.”

Wooyoung snatched his rum from the table, tossing it back until it was gone. He slammed the empty bottle down, exhaling a growl as he finished chugging it. San had him cornered, caged like a rat in a trap. He couldn’t bet seven threes with only nine out, and presumably he had a few sixes of his own, meaning there was no way he had the numbers to back up a raise like that.

Wooyoung gritted his teeth together, narrowing his eyes as his incendiary gaze met San’s. His voice came out in a grating snarl, hissed through his teeth. “ _Seven_ threes.”

San felt a rush of vainglory, reveling in how easily he’d already broken Wooyoung. He leaned against his palm, drawing out each syllable carefully, mockingly. “ _Liar_.”

Wooyoung’s gaze seethed with ire. It must have taken all of his strength not to throw his cup across the room. San slid his own finger across the table, knocking one of Wooyoung’s dice out of the way.

The cups connected with the table in unison. The tally was five-to-three now, giving San a significant advantage in dice. It would be difficult for Wooyoung to claw his way back out of the pit he’d fallen into, but San wasn’t willing to underestimate him yet.

“Five fives,” Wooyoung bet confidently.

San studied his tight expression for cracks in the seams, but couldn’t mine anything useful.

He gritted his teeth. His dice weren’t enough to raise, but he had a feeling Wooyoung wasn’t bluffing. He didn’t have a choice but to call. “Liar.”

Wooyoung raised his cup, and San bit back a hiss at Wooyoung’s moment of victory, tipping the scales closer to an equilibrium. They scooped up their dice—four for San, three for Wooyoung—scrambling them in their leather-bound cups, then striking them onto the table.

San restrained a grimace at his unfavorable roll, a mocking display of randomly numbered dice—a pathetic two, three, four, and six—not a double or wild in sight. _Fuck_. His first bet would have to be a bluff—a damn good one, at that.

“Four fours.”

Wooyoung tipped his cup up again, glancing down at his dice, then locked eyes with San, eyes glazed over with a sinister gleam. “I can see right through you.”

San’s breath hitched in his throat. The way Wooyoung was looking at him spoke of danger, foreboding, so much different from the way his eyes had raked him up and down before—and San wasn’t one to fear any man.

Wooyoung’s voice came out in a sinful drawl. “ _Liar_.”

San felt rage boil inside of him as they tipped their cups up, showing their hands. It was his loss, of course.

San couldn’t have made a better bet, but Wooyoung saw through it effortlessly. It would have only taken a one and a four for San to win, and yet, Wooyoung’s challenge was punctuated with unmatched confidence. San could see why Easy Eight had such a reputation.

“Can’t remember the last time someone got me down to three dice,” Wooyoung mused, sounding half-impressed, though San could practically taste the bitterness as it dripped off his tongue. Wooyoung threw his cup down after a few shakes, then glanced beneath it. San followed his lead, noting his hand—a one, a three, and a two.

“Two twos,” San called, a safe bet.

“Two threes,” Wooyoung raised.

San cocked a small grin. He didn’t mean to, but it slipped through the cracks. “Three threes.”

He glanced up, watching the despondent expression that fell over Wooyoung’s face as he realized the corner he’d been backed into. Wooyoung’s only safe bet would be to call him on his bluff and pray.

“Liar,” Wooyoung challenged, voice just barely wavering.

They tipped their cups up, the light seeming to drain from Wooyoung’s eyes, replaced by new embers of fury. They were strangers, but San knew enough to know that Wooyoung _didn’t_ like to lose. Clearly, neither did San.

San had the upper hand moving into the next round, though it was Wooyoung’s first move.

“Three fives.”

San gritted his teeth, glancing down at his hand, then back up to Wooyoung’s smug expression, cocky yet imperceptible. He was fucked—a five and two sixes. If Wooyoung’s dice were both fives, he would win, but San couldn’t afford to raise.

“Liar.”

Wooyoung placed his cup to the side gently, lips curling up as he revealed the two fives San already knew he had.

They collected their dice back into their cups, the rattling against the cup’s interior significantly less intense with only two dice remaining for each of them. They were back on even ground now—two-to-two, collecting each other’s dice in a well-matched push and pull.

San snuck a brief peek at his dice, a one and two. He had the advantage for holding the wild, but he had no clue what Wooyoung had under his cup.

“Two twos,” San started, playing it safe.

“Two fours.”

Wooyoung wouldn’t have called two fours unless he had them himself—he couldn’t afford to be making such impetuous bluffs so late in the game.

“Three fours,” San raised. Wooyoung would have to call—he’d be an imbecile to raise it any further with only four dice out.

“Four fours,” Wooyoung growled, each word coming out slow and labored. He tensed his fingers around the bottom of his cup until his knuckles turned white. He was finally breaking.

San flashed a smug smirk, leaning in over the table on his elbows, letting his chin rest on the back of his palm, his other hand positioned delicately around the base of his cup. “Liar.”

Wooyoung seethed as they tipped their cups up to reveal his loss. He had to have known he would lose with the impulsive way he threw out his final bet with nothing but spite to go off of. He flung his die to the side, and San watched as it toppled off the table and rolled to the floor, crashing into the rotting floorboards across the tavern.

San was no stranger to Liar’s Dice, and he could count on one hand the number of times he’d played a game _this_ close. He doubted Wooyoung could crawl his way back to a victory from his vulnerable position. One die made for nearly an impossible bet.

Wooyoung glanced up at San, an indecipherable glint in his eye. “Two ones.”

San’s heart skipped a beat as he glanced beneath his own cup—this may have just been the luckiest day of his life.

“ _Three_ ones.”

Wooyoung’s eyes grew wide, a look of despair dawning over his features. “Liar.”

“You told me your nickname, but I never told you mine,” San purred, settling his gaze over Wooyoung’s, a crooked smirk dancing on the corners of his lips. He caressed the bottom of the cup with calloused fingers, slowly lifting it to reveal a beautiful pair of ones. “Snake Eyes San.”

⚀

⚀

“You don’t look too happy,” San mused. 

San leaned his back against the thick wooden door as it swung shut, slipping a rolled cigarette from its tin and placing it between his lips, striking a match until it flared a brilliant orange in the oil lamp’s dim cast. He lit the end and shook out the match, letting it fall to the creaky wood floor and stamping it out with his boot for good measure. San took a deep drag, filling his lungs with fragrant smoke as he pinched the brim of his hat and tossed it onto the table along the opposite wall. 

The room wasn’t particularly large, but it did the trick. A bed, a table, a lamp—the bare-bones essentials for a traveler, or someone just looking for a little privacy. Wooyoung followed San’s lead, abandoning his hat and carding a jeweled hand through the thick black locks framing his face, most of it secured messily behind his head with a ribbon. 

“What makes you say that?” Wooyoung asked, wasting no time caging San against the door, resting a hand beside San’s head and leaning in with the bitter smile of someone who’d just lost a bet. 

Wooyoung was close enough for San to smell the rum on his breath, his eyes raking over San’s face. Wooyoung was livid—San could tell from the hard set of his jaw and the burn in his eyes, though his anger was equally matched with his visible desire to tear San’s clothes off. San quite liked the combination—he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t gloating a bit. His competitive nature liked to bite him in the ass, but now wasn’t one of those times. 

“Someone on a fierce winning streak can’t be too keen on losing, that’s all.” 

“You’re right,” Wooyoung purred, leaning even closer. His lips ghosted a hair’s breadth above San’s, halting just before they touched. “I detest it.”

San barely felt the brush of Wooyoung’s hand against his hip before he was staring down the muzzle of his own gun. He kept his eyes locked on Wooyoung’s, exhaling a breath of smoke through the corner of his lips. San took another nonchalant drag, watching the way Wooyoung’s lips turned up into a mischievous smile. 

Wooyoung’s thumb brushed lightly against the hammer. “I could always kill you to save face, you know.” 

San’s lip quirked up around his cigarette. “I call your bluff.” 

“How much do you wanna bet there’s a round in the chamber?” Wooyoung challenged, brandishing San’s flintlock revolver like it was his own. He opened the chamber and peered inside, then snapped it shut with an indecipherable grin. 

Wooyoung’s thumb brushed the hammer to cock it, but San disarmed him, yanking it from his grasp and shoving him against the door in one fluid motion. It rattled against its hinges from the impact, and a soft grunt left Wooyoung’s upturned lips as San pinned him in place. 

San aimed the revolver at Wooyoung’s face, taking a casual drag from his smoke. “You should know better than to turn a pirate’s own gun on him.”

Wooyoung’s eyes flitted back and forth between the gun’s muzzle and San, something akin to realization dawning on his face.

“I knew it,” Wooyoung scoffed. “You don’t walk like an ordinary sailor.” 

“Oh, yeah? How do I walk?” San let the tip of his revolver fall against Wooyoung’s lower lip, dragging it down to expose the two shiny gold teeth hiding in his smile. 

“Like a well-disguised miscreant.”

“Really? I’m glad to hear I’m well-disguised,” he teased, his eyes trained to Wooyoung’s lips. “Must take one to know one, yeah?”

He raised one shoulder in a sly shrug. “I have my secrets.” 

“They don’t call it ‘Liar’s Dice’ for nothing.” 

“You’re the one who hustled me, ‘Snake Eyes San,’” Wooyoung sneered.

San quirked a brow in amusement. “Exactly.”

Wooyoung flashed a dastardly grin, locking eyes with San as he licked along the barrel of the flintlock revolver from base to tip, dragging his tongue against the steel. San couldn’t tear his gaze away, drawn in by the sinful gleam in Wooyoung’s eyes like that of the devil himself. 

He didn’t stop there. As his tongue lapped over the muzzle, he sealed his lips around it for a final, vulgar kiss, his eyelids fluttering half-shut. San’s fingers tightened around the handle of his gun, his cock growing hard in his trousers. Easy Eight was playing dirty, and he knew it. 

He pulled off with a _pop_ , the gun’s barrel slick with saliva, glistening lewdly in the low light of the oil lamp. San puffed out a laugh, a thin cloud of smoke leaving his lips as he shook his head in disbelief.

San lowered his gun, tossing it aside onto the bed, then plucked the cigarette from his lips with two fingers. “Revolting.”

San grabbed Wooyoung by the front of his blouse and roughly yanked him forward, sealing their lips together in a vicious kiss. San grunted as a hand fisted in his hair and pulled, another snaking around his shoulders and clawing at the battered leather of his knee-length coat. He shoved Wooyoung against the door, eliciting a soft yet angry whine as his back hit the wood. 

Wooyoung reciprocated aggressively, licking into San’s mouth with a frustrated sigh, and San cocked his head to let his tongue slide deeper. He tasted rum on Wooyoung’s tongue, but the way he kissed was more intoxicating than any liquor. He kissed the same way he gambled—cocky and self-assured, like it was a game he couldn’t lose. San would move and he would raise, calling with his tongue and matching with his lips.

A rough, calloused hand brushed the back of his neck, dragging blunt nails across his skin as San pressed a knee forward and yanked Wooyoung by his blouse. Wooyoung’s breath caught as San dragged a thigh between his legs, his cock straining in his trousers, making his hips kick up into San’s with a soft grunt. San growled against his lips at the pressure, his own cock achingly hard and leaking against his thigh, eager for his reward. 

San broke away to mouth along the sharp cut of Wooyoung’s jaw, leaving soft bites along the bone all the way up to the ramus, then worked his way down his neck, tasting sea salt against his tongue. Wooyoung tipped his head back against the door with a low moan, pulling San closer by the lapels of his coat. San licked and sucked down the column of Wooyoung’s neck to his collarbone, running his tongue over the raised outline of the scar on his chest. 

San mouthed wet kisses along the entirety of the scar’s length, ending just before the cleft of his sternum, a slash of pink against richly tanned skin. An imperfection on an otherwise perfect canvas, which San found beautiful in its own way. He wasn’t much for perfection—no pirate was. None of the good ones, at least. Wooyoung leaned into him, his chest rising and falling beneath San’s lips with panted breaths.

“I believe I have winnings to collect,” San purred, raising his head to continue mouthing along Wooyoung’s jaw. “But you strike me as an awfully sore loser.”

Wooyoung’s mouth curved up in a contemptuous smile. “I wouldn’t know, since I’ve never lost.”

“You sure about that? They might call me ‘Snake Eyes,’ but I always play fair. Make it good, and I’ll be sure to repay the favor.” San raised his fingers to his lips, taking a long drag off his smoke. 

“Good?” Wooyoung scoffed. “I could get you off with my hands tied behind my back.”

San blew smoke from his lips with a creeping grin. “Wanna bet?”

He held his cigarette between his lips, freeing his hands to undo his belt, then slipped it from around his waist as Wooyoung quirked a puzzled brow. 

“Turn around.” He tilted his head to the side, gesturing for him to spin. 

Wooyoung humored him, turning away to face the door. San guided his arms behind his back, sliding the belt below his hands and forming a loop around his wrists. He cinched it tight, binding Wooyoung’s wrists in a sturdy hold—a simple trick often used to hold someone captive without any rope on hand. 

“Now I’m your hostage? I see my luck has gone sour.”

San gripped Wooyoung’s shoulders, whipping his body around with a swift tug. “Let’s see if you’re bluffing.”

Wooyoung pushed his lips into a mocking pout. “How are you gonna get my clothes off now, Snake Eyes?”

San paused, taking a drag from his smoke, then lifted his right foot from the floor, crooking his knee and leaning down enough to slip a hand into the calf of his boot, revealing a hidden Bowie knife. He spun it once in the air, catching it by its guarded wooden handle, then brought the curved tip to rest under Wooyoung’s chin. Wooyoung’s breath caught as the cold steel kissed his throat, tipping his chin up as San pressed the blade tighter against his skin. 

San trailed the edge down the prominent vein in Wooyoung’s throat, eliciting a shiver that San almost didn’t catch. It made San giddy to know he had such an effect on him, his careful poker face slipping ever so slightly under San’s touch. Wooyoung’s gaze stayed locked on San’s as the knife tickled his skin, his head falling back in reluctant submission, helpless to argue with his hands bound behind his back. 

San caressed his blade down the dip of Wooyoung’s sternum, right over his heart, scraping over the links of his gold chain necklaces and hooking it into the plunging neckline of his blouse, catching the curved tip against the deep black linen that barely concealed his torso. San held his knife firmly in his hand, giving it a quick tug against the fabric until it gave way, ripping it clean down the center.

The blouse billowed at Wooyoung’s sides as the knife sliced through, rending it in two, exposing even more of his chest than it already did. San lightly trailed the knife back up his stomach, his muscles jumping at the sensation. Wooyoung watched with raised eyebrows, both impressed and annoyed by his newly tattered clothing.

Wooyoung shot San an irritated glare. “You owe me for that, scurvy dog.”

“What does that make you—a mutt?” San retorted. He tapped his knife against Wooyoung’s lips, watching as they curled up in despisal. “I can think of a better use for that big mouth.” 

“Yeah? So can I.” Wooyoung flashed a nefarious smile, then leaned over and spat right onto the toe of San’s left boot. 

San glanced down at it, expressionless. He slid his gaze back up to Wooyoung, who looked awfully proud of his handiwork, a smug look on his face that San had half a mind to slap right off. 

San planted the sole of his boot against the door with a harsh _thump_ , rattling it against its hinges. “Clean it, mutt,” San ordered, keeping his gaze neutral, dragging his cigarette as he waited for Wooyoung to act. 

Wooyoung glared at him, silently seething. He scoffed, but there was little humor to be found. San exhaled a cloud of smoke directly in his face, watching in delight as Wooyoung’s upper lip twitched up in frustration. His glare felt hot, boring holes into San’s face from just inches away. 

“What, you’re not used to being the one to kneel?” San purred. Wooyoung’s expression was priceless, glowering as San milked his win for everything it was worth. 

“I don’t kneel for pirates,” Wooyoung spat. 

San leaned in, letting his lips graze Wooyoung’s ear. “Liar.”

He fisted a hand into Wooyoung’s hair, roughly forcing him to his knees. Wooyoung grunted as they hit the floor, his eyes festering with virulence. Wooyoung was livid—that much was obvious. It was clear he hated being the one to kneel—a humiliating reminder of his loss, looking up from the floor at the man who’d bested him. 

“I said clean it.” 

San reiterated his command with a sharp tug to Wooyoung’s hair, bringing him to eye-level with his boot. Wooyoung was in no position to disobey with his arms restrained uselessly behind his back. Wooyoung cursed under his breath, glaring up at San with an expression that bled contempt. 

Reluctantly, he parted his lips, his tongue peeking from his mouth ever so slightly as he leaned over to San’s shoe. He let his lips brush against the oiled leather, giving a soft kiss, eyes fluttering shut as he dragged his tongue across the streak of his own saliva on the toe. San kept a hand threaded in his hair, encouraging him to continue. Wooyoung lapped at the toe of San’s boot until it was clean, cracking his eyes open to look up at him through thick lashes. 

“Pretty little mutt,” San purred, cupping Wooyoung’s chin, stroking his thumb along the edge of his jaw. 

Wooyoung’s brows were pinched in a slight frown, cheeks dusted pink with humiliation. The sight of Easy Eight on his knees, hands bound, clearly mortified as he licked San’s boot was almost too much to bear. It truly was the luckiest day of San’s life, after all. His cock certainly enjoyed the show, straining against the thick canvas of his sail-cloth breeches. 

San pinched his cigarette between his lips as he popped the buttons of his trousers open, shimmying them down enough to let his cock spring free. Wooyoung watched as it fell just inches from his lips, his eyes trained on the flushed pink tip, a bead of wetness glistening in the low light. 

“Let’s see if you’re all flash in the pan,” San sneered around his smoke. 

Wooyoung scoffed, his angry gaze flickering up to San’s face for a moment before settling back to San’s cock. Wooyoung’s tongue darted out to catch the droplet that oozed from the tip, lapping it away before sealing his lips over the slit in a wet kiss. San hissed a breath in as Wooyoung gave it a light suck, peering up at San through thick, fluttering lashes. San brought a hand to his hair, encouraging him to take more. 

Wooyoung parted his lips, allowing them to slide around the shaft until they were stretched tight, their pretty pink shape taking it all the way to the base until the tip of his nose touched the skin under San’s navel. San groaned, gripping Wooyoung’s hair taut in his fingers, feeling the way his throat clenched as he sank to the hilt. San held him there, taking a casual drag off his smoke as Wooyoung gagged around his cock. 

“Fuck,” San cursed, watching mirthfully as Wooyoung’s eyes began to fill with tears, his brows furrowed from the effort. “Just like that. Such a good little mutt.” 

Wooyoung pulled off with a gasp as his throat was freed, blinking away tears and licking away a strand of saliva connecting San’s cock to his lips. He glared up at San, but the glaze in his eyes and the flush of his cheeks made him less than threatening. 

“I’ve had grog that tastes better,” Wooyoung spat, voice grating as he spoke, but it wavered enough to make his taunt lose its edge. 

“Your insults don’t hurt when you’re on your knees for me, love.” San stroked a hand over Wooyoung’s hair, blowing a cloud of smoke in his face. Wooyoung growled with annoyance, his eyes twitching shut.

Most of Wooyoung’s hair had slipped from its ribbon, black strands falling messily around his face in stiff salt-water waves. San pinched the ribbon and gave it a tug, allowing the rest to fall over the back of his neck. It drifted to the floor as San let it go, and he ran his fingers through the loosened locks with a condescending touch, petting him like a dog. 

Wooyoung shot San a glare, then parted his lips, dragging his tongue along the underside of San’s cock from base to tip, the head lewdly hitting his cheek and leaving a smear of saliva and precum against his skin. He licked back down to the base, sucking along the side, his gaze flickering upward with a coy glint. He kissed wetly up the shaft, curling his tongue against it with small, taunting flicks. 

“Oh, fuck,” San cursed, tightening his hand in Wooyoung’s hair. 

Wooyoung pulled back to mouth at the head, sucking hard as he teased at the slit, making San hiss out a groan halfway through a drag off his smoke. He sank further down San’s length, pressing hard with his tongue as it slid to the back of his throat, his brows knitting with effort as he struggled not to gag. He started to bob his head, moving back and forth along San’s cock, his lips suctioned in a tight ring.

“God, shit—” San bit back a filthy moan as it threatened to escape, his fingers digging against Wooyoung’s scalp until he whined, sending vibrations up his shaft. San cursed and thrust forward, the head of his cock slamming into the back of Wooyoung’s throat, eliciting a harsh gag. 

Wooyoung tried to pull off, but San held him by the back of his head, keeping his cock sheathed to the hilt. Wooyoung’s eyes screwed shut, tears glistening against his eyelashes and spilling down his cheeks, choking at the pressure against his throat. After a few moments of struggle, San released him, Wooyoung’s mouth quickly retreating and gasping for air. 

Wooyoung looked up at San with glassy eyes, his hair a mess of twists and tangles and his lips a pretty, swollen pink, and his cheeks painted in a splotchy flush. The innocent little mole under his left eye topped it all off, and San basked in his winnings as he rubbed the tip of his cock against Wooyoung’s lips, giving them an enticing luster.

San pushed into his mouth, parting Wooyoung’s lips with his cock, guiding them back around his shaft with a firm push to the back of his head. Wooyoung’s eyes drifted shut as he took it all, pressing his tongue against the underside, his lips tight. Anchoring his fingers in Wooyoung’s hair, San shoved his head down, forcing his cock to the back of his throat. Wooyoung fought a gag, another tear spilling down his rosy cheek. 

San rolled his hips, fucking into Wooyoung’s mouth in an easy rhythm, holding his head in place with a strong hand. Wooyoung took it well, so San used it as encouragement to thrust in faster, sliding his cock in and out with heightened fervor. His other hand held the cigarette delicately between his fingers, taking disinterested drags and letting tendrils of smoke waft out from between his lips. He gripped Wooyoung’s hair tighter, delighting in every gag and whimper he choked out.

San could feel release twisting in his gut, but he didn’t want to give Wooyoung the satisfaction of winning—besides, he hadn’t collected his rightful spoils yet. 

“Fuck,” San snarled, pulling Wooyoung off, pausing for a moment to admire the sight of him a defiled mess on the floor, then yanking him up to his feet by his hair, roughly shoving him to the table on the opposite wall. 

Wooyoung staggered into it, the impact rattling the oil lamp and causing the flame to stutter, casting eerie shadows in its flickering light. Wooyoung grunted breathlessly as his stomach hit the edge, helpless to stop himself with his hands bound. He was still catching his breath from when San fucked his throat, his back heaving beneath his torn blouse. 

San planted a hand on his back and pushed, flattening Wooyoung’s chest to the table. San slid his hand along the curve of his spine, stroking over the fabric of his breeches and giving his ass a firm squeeze. Wooyoung let out a small gasp, his breath ghosting over the dull varnish of the oak. 

“Hold this.” San plucked the cigarette from his mouth, crudely sticking it between Wooyoung’s lips. 

He snaked his hands around Wooyoung’s hips, palming at the hardness straining at the front of his trousers, earning a soft moan from Wooyoung’s throat. San began popping the buttons open, but a sudden, thick puff of smoke in his face made him halt. He looked up to see Wooyoung grinning smugly around his cigarette, his neck craned back to see San’s reaction. 

Gritting his teeth, San hooked his fingers in the waist of Wooyoung’s trousers, shoving them down with an exasperated growl. He bent down to rip Wooyoung’s boots off one after the other, a hidden blade clattering to the floor as he discarded them. A Bowie, similar to San’s, its handle boasting an intricate design and gilded in licks of gold. San kicked it aside. 

“It struck me as odd for a swindler to be unarmed,” San remarked, sliding Wooyoung’s pants to the floor. “You’re not as daft as you look.”

“I always play fair—can’t say the same for everyone else.”

San shrugged off his coat and tossed it aside, joining Wooyoung’s discarded garments in a crumpled heap of leather. Wooyoung’s lacerated blouse had slipped down his frame, hanging around his shoulders to reveal the lean expanse of his back, several more scars catching San’s attention—one across his shoulder blade, one curving over his right shoulder, and a few that looked to be lashes running perpendicular to his spine. 

San leaned over him, dragging his tongue along the slash on his shoulder, ending with a hard bite to the slope of his neck. Wooyoung squirmed against him, a muffled whine leaving his lips as San’s teeth sank into his skin, leaving indentations in their wake. He licked and sucked at the mark until it bloomed a deep red, then brought a hand around, cupping his fingers together under Wooyoung’s chin.

“Spit,” he ordered. 

Wooyoung obeyed, spitting into San’s hand without protest. San slicked his fingers, rubbing them together a few times as he pulled back, stroking them against Wooyoung’s entrance. Wooyoung shivered, gasping at the touch, the muscles of his back quivering visibly as he drew in an uneven breath. San wasted no time pressing a finger in, grinning in satisfaction as a weak moan escaped Wooyoung’s lips, his forehead falling against the table. Long hair spilled over the wood, black as tar and crisp with sea salt. 

San pressed his finger in until his gold ring met Wooyoung’s entrance, then slid it out to the knuckle. He gave it a few teasing pumps, relishing in the sounds leaving Wooyoung’s lips as he took slow puffs of his cigarette. The muscles in Wooyoung’s back twitched, arching slightly as San twisted and dragged his finger inside of him. San’s cock throbbed at the sight, leaking impatiently against Wooyoung’s hip. 

San added another, bringing his index and middle fingers together and pressing them inside, feeling Wooyoung tighten around him. Wooyoung let out a high whine against the table, his eyebrows pinched in a soft frown as San fully sheathed his fingers, pushing them in until his rings were flush. He paused to take a drag, letting Wooyoung adjust to the stretch. 

He kept his fingers straight, pulling them in and out in a few slow pumps, loosening him up with almost sadistic patience. It wasn’t long before Wooyoung began to squirm, pushing back against San’s hand to force him deeper. San twisted his wrist, working his fingers open until they started to slide with little resistance, then hooked them into a soft bend, driving the pads of his fingers downward. 

“Ah!” Wooyoung gritted, the muscles in his back flexing around the arch of his spine. “Fuck, San—”

San repeated the motion, pushing down with his fingers until Wooyoung gave a high keen, grinding back against San’s hand. San gave quick, shallow thrusts, adding pressure when he found his angle. Wooyoung cursed out a moan, loud and obscene against the weathered walls of the room.

He slipped his fingers out, then brought three together, leaning down to spit over Wooyoung’s entrance before slipping them in, drawing an impatient whimper from his throat. San cursed under his breath at his tightness, twisting and curling his fingers as he worked him open. Wooyoung gasped, then exhaled a wanton sigh, dark wisps of hair fanning against the table. 

“Oh, fuck,” Wooyoung breathed, grinding back to take more of San’s fingers. San pressed them in all the way, stroking downwards, curling them against the spot that had Wooyoung writhing in his hold. “Fuck, San, _ah_ —”

“You’re tight—color me surprised.” 

“Ngh—fuck you.”

“Easy, mutt—I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” San held his hand still, earning a weak sigh of frustration through Wooyoung’s teeth, cruelly bringing his pleasure to a halt. San watched in amusement, taking a long, mocking drag off his smoke as Wooyoung squirmed around his fingers.

“Get on with it, ship rat, I don’t have all night,” Wooyoung snarled between shallow pants. 

San slid his fingers out, grabbing a fistful of his hair and shoving him against the table, grinding his cheek into the battered oak. Wooyoung let out a grunt of pain, screwing his eyes shut as San kept him firmly pinned. San dragged his cock along Wooyoung’s entrance in slow, teasing strokes, making him squirm with impatience.

“That’s cute. Fine, then,” San sighed, taking one final puff from his cigarette before plucking it from his lips, pinching the stub between his thumb and forefinger. He tilted his head down and spat, saliva dribbling crudely down the split of his ass, slicking the head of his cock as he smeared it over Wooyoung’s entrance. “If you insist.”

San extinguished his cigarette against Wooyoung’s shoulder as he drove his cock in, grinding the cherry against the patch of skin where the scar began. Wooyoung gave an agonized scream through his teeth, his wrists flexing against the belt as he thrashed against the table, his back curling into a deep arch. San flicked the stub away, pleased to see a bright pink burn immediately bloom against his skin. 

“F-fuck,” Wooyoung spat through his teeth, panting hard against the wood.

Keeping him pinned by the hair, San snapped his hips forward, immediately setting a rough pace that had the table shaking from the force, the oil lamp trembling as it fought to stay upright. Wooyoung cried out, high and desperate as San fucked into him, completely at his mercy. A low growl tore from San’s throat, his lips curled in a deadly snarl as he gave Wooyoung’s hair a sharp tug.

“Nothing to say now, mutt?” he gritted. 

Wooyoung’s only reply was a defiled moan and a string of incoherent curses, sobbing helplessly against the table as San fucked him with abandon. It was beautiful, seeing him like this—a whining, pathetic mess, drained of all his arrogance and snide wit by San’s touch alone. It was hard to believe this was the same Easy Eight from the tavern, so reluctant to surrender his pride.

“Is this all it takes to shut you up? You say you don’t kneel for pirates, but you’ll bend over for one, huh? 

“F-fuck, San—”

“You like being a pirate’s cockslut, you little wench? Huh? Answer me,” he spat, digging his thumb against the burn on his shoulder. Wooyoung cried out through his teeth, arching away from San’s hand.

“Ah—f-fuck! Y-yes,” Wooyoung stuttered out, trembling beneath him. 

San hooked his fingers in the chains adorning Wooyoung’s neck, giving them a rough yank to drag him off the table, using his other hand to crane his head back by his hair. A smear of drool shined against the varnish, a lewd reminder of Wooyoung’s humiliating state. 

“Look at me, tramp.” 

“Agh—” Wooyoung coughed around the chains cutting into his throat. San used them like a collar, jerking Wooyoung up until he was just inches from San’s face, giving them a ruthless tug as he fucked him against the edge of the table.

San clenched his fingers in Wooyoung’s hair, forcing him to look back. Wooyoung cracked his eyes open, wet with tears and brows pinched in a desperate frown. His eyes were hooded in pleasure, his skin flushed a deep pink and coated with sweat. It made San giddy—turning such a narcissistic prick into a whining mess with just his cock. It was better than gold or fine wine, the satisfaction of having a notorious gambler at his mercy.

Wooyoung’s wrists flexed against his restraints, curling into fists against San’s abdomen as San dragged him closer. He choked out a string of strangled cries, gasping for breath around the chains, his eyes starting to roll back despite San’s commands. His cheek was red, raw from being smashed against the table, wet with saliva and tear-stains. He was remarkably tight, despite what his naughty charm might suggest, and San found himself quickly succumbing to the high. 

“Fuck,” San spat, the pleasure in his gut climbing dangerously close to the tipping point. He released both the chains and Wooyoung’s hair, letting him fall back against the table with a breathless cry. 

San slipped out of him, ripping the belt away from his wrists to let his hands fall free, throwing it aside and grabbing him by the waist. He spun Wooyoung around, shoving him to the bed with a yelp of surprise. Wooyoung rubbed at the marks on his wrists, scooting back onto the bed as San stripped off his sweaty blouse. His boots followed, kicking them off with a dull _thump_ as they hit the floor, allowing him to slide off his breeches and toss them aside with the rest of their clothing. 

He climbed into the bed after Wooyoung, spreading his legs apart and settling between them to continue where they left off. Wooyoung fell back to his elbows, hooking his legs around San’s waist and pulling him close, his cock hard against his stomach and leaking drops of precum. San planted a hand on his chest to push him flat against the bed, but something made him halt. 

He felt it before he saw it—the cold metal muzzle of his own revolver grazing his forehead.

San’s brows knitted together, his tongue clicking against his teeth in disapproval. “What did I tell you about turning my own gun on me?”

“You never placed your bets. Think there’s one in the chamber?” Wooyoung cocked the flintlock with a dangerous _click_. 

San’s lips pulled into a half-smirk. “Hm, well… I've never lost at Russian Roulette.”

“Clearly.” Wooyoung flexed his hand, prodding the muzzle against San’s forehead with just enough pressure to start pressing marks into the skin. “Well, what’s your call, then?”

“I should have kept your hands tied,” San teased, breathing out a strained chuckle. 

San flinched instinctively as Wooyoung’s finger squeezed the trigger, striking the lock against the frizzen until the flint’s beveled edge hit the pan. Hot sparks showered down the stock of the gun, fizzling out with a harsh crackle. It didn’t ignite, given that the pan wasn’t primed, but it was a risk Wooyoung had been willing to take. Just a pinch of powder was all it would have taken to blind them both for good.

Wooyoung flashed a cheeky grin, throwing his shoulders up in a light shrug. “Oops.”

Anger flared in San’s chest, and he clamped his hand around Wooyoung’s wrist, slamming it forcefully against the mattress. Wooyoung’s body crashed down with it, and the gun fell from his grip, tumbling away and clattering to the floor. 

A growl rolled through San’s throat as he wrapped his fingers around Wooyoung’s throat, spitting venom off his tongue. “You little _wretch_.”

Wooyoung writhed in his vice-tight grip, eyes going wide as San cut off his air supply. San pinned him harder against the bed, digging his nails into Wooyoung’s neck until they left angry crescents. Wooyoung seized his wrist, scratching desperately at the hand around his throat, thrashing beneath San’s weight. When he felt he’d had enough, San slowly retracted his clutch, eliciting a sputtering cough as Wooyoung fought for air.

“Don’t tell me you were scared, ship rat,” Wooyoung choked out, punctuated by a few gasping coughs.

San gritted his teeth. “I think this mutt needs a muzzle.”

He slid his hand up from Wooyoung’s throat, cupping his chin and giving a rough squeeze, rings digging into his skin. He swiped a calloused thumb over Wooyoung’s lower lip, brushing it down to expose his bottom teeth. Wooyoung’s face twisted into a scowl.

“You gonna fuck me or not?” he scoffed.

San traced his fingertips along Wooyoung’s neck, admiring his rich golden skin, smudged with dirt and slick with sweat. “After that trick you just pulled, I think you ought to beg for it.”

San slid his hand down, grazing his fingertips along Wooyoung’s shoulders, tracing over the ridge of his collarbone. His thumb dragged across Wooyoung’s chest, teasing at one of his nipples in slow circles. He waited for a reaction—Wooyoung’s breath hitching in his throat—before moving in to drag his teeth along the edge Wooyoung’s jaw. He gave it a crude bite, feeling Wooyoung squirm in his grasp, then ran his tongue along the bone, mouthing kisses down the sensitive surface of his neck.

He nipped along Wooyoung’s collarbone, brushing his lips over the cold metal of the chains adorning his neck, then pressed his lips down, sucking and pulling at the skin with his teeth just enough to form a messy line of welts. His tongue laved across the scar embossed in Wooyoung’s chest, tasting the briny residue of sweat and the sulfury tang of gunpowder. 

Wooyoung legs tightened around San’s waist as San ducked his head down further, flicking his tongue across Wooyoung’s nipple before pressing his lips down to suck at it. Wooyoung’s back arched, fisting a hand into San’s hair, head tipping back just enough to expose the whetted cut of his jaw. He sank his teeth into his lower lip to muffle a whine, though not entirely.

“I have all night, Easy Eight. And I’m _very_ patient,” San teased, letting his voice fall low. 

“A pirate with virtue, how— _ah_ —funny.” Wooyoung’s fingers gripped tighter in the salt-stiff strands as San ran his thumb across the head of his cock, drawing out a shaky moan. His eyes glinted impishly as he pulled his gaze back to San, but his whimpers betrayed him. 

“Mm,” San hummed, swirling his thumb in torturously slow motions around the head. “I’m generous, too—all you have to do is beg.” 

“I’d rather swallow a bullet,” Wooyoung snapped, though his words were bookended by unbidden whimpers as San thumbed at the tip of his cock.

A grin pulled at San’s lips. “You have a lot of pride for a caddish little tramp.” 

“How sweet,” Wooyoung gritted through his teeth. “San, fuck—”

“Beg for me, mutt,” San purred, hot breath washing across Wooyoung’s chest. His thumb dragged down from the head of Wooyoung’s cock, pressing against the underside with enough pressure to pull heady whines from Wooyoung’s lips.

“ _Fuck_ —” Wooyoung cursed between panting breaths. His eyebrows furrowed together, skin dusted with a deep flush as he trembled at San’s mercy.

San nipped just below Wooyoung’s jaw, sucking and scraping his teeth along the bone, reveling in the way he writhed as San teased the head of his cock against his entrance. Wooyoung bit back a ruined moan, clawing down the nape of San’s neck, his nails digging in hard enough to deliver a sting.

A meek whisper tumbled from Wooyoung’s lips, giving San everything he’d wanted with one simple word. “Please—”

San cocked his head as if to indicate pensive thought, then clicked his tongue against his teeth decisively. “On second thought, I’d rather tease you,” he bluffed, flashing a shit-eating grin. “You sound so good when you whine.” 

Panic shone in Wooyoung’s eyes, doe-like and pathetic, and with that, San had truly won. Wooyoung was cornered, just like in their final round of dice—nowhere left to run. 

“What was it you said earlier? Oh, right—you have a ‘penchant for crushing egos,’ was that it?” San’s grin widened in villainous glee, throwing Wooyoung’s boast right back in his face. 

“God—fuck, _pleasepleaseplease_ ,” Wooyoung begged, finally cracking his prideful exterior. He clutched at San’s shoulders, calloused fingers dragging down to the front of his chest.

Satisfied, San sat back on his knees, positioning himself over Wooyoung’s entrance, cupping his hand under his own cock. He spat downwards, letting the saliva pool in his palm before slicking it generously over the head and down the shaft. He grabbed Wooyoung by the waist, his fingernails digging into his hip bones, then gave a hard yank to pull their hips flush. 

San pushed the head of his cock in with a hard thrust, watching in amusement as Wooyung succumbed with a raptured sigh. Wooyoung gripped desperately at the sheets, twisting spirals into the fabric as he clenched his fists. San rutted into him with a crude snap of his hips, his lips twitching into a smirk as he drank in the sight of his cock disappearing into Wooyoung’s hole. Wooyoung’s head fell back against the bed, lips falling open to moan out a filthy cry.

“That’s all it took to break you?” San purred, eyelids hooded. “No wonder they call you Easy Eight.” 

Wooyoung’s composure unraveled with every thrust, quickly falling apart, spitting out curses between heavy, gasping breaths. His pitch was high in his throat, a beautiful falsetto of profanities and airy moans flying from his lips. If San thought he’d looked ravishing when they’d first met, then there was no word to describe him now. 

“Fuck, such a pretty little mutt,” San praised with a condescending tenor, curling his hand around Wooyoung’s throat. He pressed down with the pads of his fingertips, squeezing tightly around his neck. 

Wooyoung’s eyes went wide, his hands slapping around San’s wrists, a strangled moan ripping from his throat as San fucked him violently into the mattress. Wooyoung’s nails dug into his forearms, clenching frantically until they left marks, mirroring the red welts on his own from San’s belt. San gripped his throat tighter, choking him until his hazy eyes began to roll back. 

“Look at me,” San commanded. Wooyoung’s eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open as he fought for breath. San released Wooyoung’s throat to clench at his jaw, the sundry rings around his fingers digging creases into his skin. “Look. At. Me.”

Wooyoung furiously gasped for breath as he raised his eyes, visibly resisting the way they threatened to roll back again. “F-fuck, San—”

“Can’t shut your damn mouth, can you?” San snarled, feeling Wooyoung’s nails rake down his back, stinging trails left in their wake. “The whole damn inn is gonna hear Easy Eight getting fucked like a cheap whore.”

San’s cock thrust in and out with each snap of his hips, unchaste slapping sounds echoing off the tavern walls. He admired the way Wooyoung’s expression twisted, eyes glazed and unfocused, his body arching and writhing against San’s. A string of desperate moans spilled through his parted lips, and San couldn’t stop the wicked smirk that spread across his face at finally having fucked every last drop of arrogance out of him.

“Fuck, San, I’m s-so fucking close—” Wooyoung cried, nails digging into San’s back so hard it made San hiss through his teeth.

San palmed at the underside of Wooyoung’s thighs, forcing them up until Wooyoung was practically folded in half, plowing into him until the bed shook, its wooden posts banging obnoxiously against the wall. The new angle had Wooyoung practically screaming, his head thrown back against the pillow, sweat plastering strands of hair to his forehead and coating his skin in a lamp-lit sheen. He looked incredible like this, a sinful masterpiece as San fucked him into a state of euphoria. 

“Fucking hell,” San snarled, panting out breathless grunts as pleasure swelled in his gut like a tidal wave. 

San squeezed a hand around Wooyoung’s cock, stroking it in time to his uneven thrusts, the rhythm of his hips growing more erratic the closer he got to the edge. The moan that Wooyoung let out had to be one of the most debauched San had ever heard, putting tavern whores everywhere to shame. His fingernails burned against San’s back, clawing trails so deep they were likely bleeding. San spat a strained groan through his teeth, his hair drenched and his lungs burning with exertion. 

It took little more than a few sloppy strokes to have Wooyoung trembling, wanton cries catching in his throat as his body tensed, his cock twitching in San’s hand as hot streaks of cum painted his stomach. He tightened around San as he came, dragging him over the edge as well. San grunted out a stuttered moan against Wooyoung’s neck as he spilled into him, his cock buried to the hilt. San spat out a final curse, collapsing to his elbows on either side of Wooyoung’s head.

San dropped his forehead to the sheets, hair dripping with sweat, gasping for breath as exhaustion wracked over him. Wooyoung was in a similar state, dog-tired and panting breathlessly underneath San’s sweat-slicked frame. San slipped out of him, falling to his side in a heap of useless limbs. Wooyoung ran a hand through his damp hair, staring up at the ceiling with the beginnings of a coy smirk. 

“Your win was a fluke, by the way.”

San huffed out a laugh. “Wanna bet?”

⚀

⚀

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was brought to you by no quarter by alestorm and the entire pirates of the caribbean soundtrack
> 
> rinji (atinystarlight): who needs protection if everyone already has syphilis
> 
> star (yunsans): just wanted to pop in and say we went out and bought dice from the store and then spent over three hours hunched over on the ground making spreadsheets of every move of their game to write this fic. my brain is mush but _sexy pirate gambling._
> 
> also you can follow us on twitter @ yunsannies and yungwooyoung


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